


Home To Her

by starswholisten



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Angst and impending doom and dancing, F/M, Yeah that's basically what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:37:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswholisten/pseuds/starswholisten
Summary: “Dance with me? Please?"Once, Azriel would have declined politely, hating himself even as he said the words. But now, he couldn’t - not after that first time, feeling her body pressed against his, reveling in her breath ghosting his neck, living in the sound of her laughter as he twirled her around and around. Not when this could be the last time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this was slightly inspired by the music video for Work Song by Hozier.

She never wore black, not if she could help it. Enough of the Inner Circle wore black every day, and she’d been their splash of light and color for as long as she could remember. But tonight, it seemed only appropriate.

As Mor adjusted the skirt on her gown, black and beaded and more extravagant than was probably expected for the occasion, she frowned in the mirror at her reflection. As lovely as this dress was - a one-shouldered, deep-cut neckline that complemented the waves of blonde hair that cascaded over the opposite shoulder - it felt like a terrible weight. Not only because she’d worn nothing but fighting leathers for the last two months of what seemed like endless training, but because of the implications the dress had for the night, for tomorrow, for the future.

It could be the last dress she ever wore.

Tonight, they would dance. All of them, together, a gathering of everyone in the city of Velaris and all of their loved ones. Rhysand and Feyre had decided that this is how the night should be spent. Laughing, enjoying the company of friends and family, pretending that the morning would bring the sunrise and not possible irreversible darkness.

For when the sun set tomorrow, they would go to war. The Illyrian armies that were still in the Steppes would fly off to the border between Summer and Spring, and the Inner Circle would lead the assault on Hybern’s forces. So they would take no chances tonight, and they would spend it as if it were their last. It very well could be.

Letting out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, Mor stood from her vanity and exited her chambers to join the rest in the main dining area of the House of Wind. She expected she would be the last to arrive, but also knew she’d certainly be one of the last to leave. The last one on the dance floor, spinning until the music faded with the night. The last to let go.

She pressed her lips together as she walked down the hallway, holding back tears, willing herself not to cry. Not yet. She had to put on a bright, brave, happy face for her High Lord and her High Lady, for her friends, for her people. Mor knew they would be looking to her for her eternal hope, for her optimism, and even if she had never been more frightened in her life, she refused to let it show. And she wanted to be happy, if only for one more night. So she stopped in the shadows of the doorway, the voices of the guests filling her Fae ears, and stepped into the light with a smile.

She hardly had to search before her eyes found his. For a moment, all of it vanished, and she didn’t have to fake her smile any longer.

\--------

He could count the times she had worn black on one scarred hand. And yet there she was. Radiant as if in her normal bright colors, blinding as if in white. Mor was always shining, even if Azriel could tell her smile was forced, even if he had sensed her sadness from the moment she saw the crowds of people, joined together for what could be the last time.

He stood with his back against the wall, a drink in hand, allowing his shadows to swirl around him as they always did. And he watched her. As she stood in the light, creating it herself, he willed himself to step forward, to go to her. But he couldn’t move. Mor could stop his heart with the briefest presence, with the most casual of stances. Nothing would pull him from the sight of complete perfection in front of him, not when Cassian snorted a sarcastic comment beside him, not when Feyre said his name to bring him out of the shadowy corner from which he observed the revelry, not even when Mor locked those brown eyes with his hazel.

Azriel caught the momentary sadness in her gaze, but she genuinely brightened mere moments after catching his eye, and floated down the stairs like a goddess as she made her way over to them. His shadows lightened and faded, unable to persist in the approaching sunshine.

“You’re late,” Rhys said as she approached, and Azriel’s heart sank when her gaze left his to glare at her cousin.

Mor only gave him a playful punch and flitted to a nearby table stocked with wine, picking up a glass as she settled into their group. There were so many of them - Rhys and Feyre, Cassian and Nesta, Elain and Lucien, and even Amren was there - a family that had grown so substantially over the past year. But the circle had been incomplete without her, and her presence filled that void that Azriel had felt so prominently before her arrival. He realized with a pang that this is how it could feel after tonight, if any of them were lost to the war.

None of this emotion showed on his face or in his shadows, however. He was sure of it. He was trained for this, trained to have a face of cold indifference, to present himself as the spymaster without a heart and without fear. But Mor saw him more deeply than anyone, and whatever she could sense in him had given him away. It caused her to look at him now with soft concern, and she pulled herself from her conversation with Feyre and Nesta to breeze to his side.

His world narrowed down to her as she offered him one of her secret smiles, and then leaned gracefully against the wall beside him. She sipped at her wine, and they were silent for a few comfortable moments as she took in the scenery. For all the world, it looked like Azriel was doing the same, but his mind was on her hand as it gently gripped the glass, her leg as it propped itself against the wall, and her hair as it fell into her face with a soft chuckle from her throat. “Even tonight you’ve settled into the shadowy corner,” she whispered so only he could hear, placing a delicate hand on his arm.

He suppressed a near shudder at her touch with a mask of stony indifference that she likely saw right through. “So have you,” he nodded at her, making brief eye contact, and nodding then at the space around them, which was occupied only by the two of them. Their friends had dispersed to the dance floor or to the bar, and they were completely alone.

Her responding laugh made him wonder how many more times he would hear it again tonight. How many times he would hear it again, period.

“Touché, Az," Mor said as she shoved him playfully, her hand still settled on his forearm. She released him, bringing her hand to join her other in holding her wine glass, and drank deeply. Azriel felt the ghost of her touch as prominently as his rapidly beating pulse as she leaned over him to place the empty glass on a table.

“We’re not staying here all night, though,” she quipped. But when Mor looked up at him, Az realized he wanted nothing more than to stand in this corner with her all night and just soak up her existence. He tucked his wings tight and raised a brow at her to show his reluctance to leave. But her next request damned him, and he could never refuse the pleading look in her eyes, her eyebrows furrowing gently as they raised in expectation of the answer she sought.

“Dance with me? Please?" 

Once, Azriel would have declined politely, hating himself even as he said the words. But now, he couldn’t - not after that first time, feeling her body pressed against his, reveling in her breath ghosting his neck, living in the sound of her laughter as he twirled her around and around. Not when this could be the last time.

He knew what his answer would be.

\--------

Holding her breath as she always did when she asked him to dance, Mor’s heart threatened to escape her rib cage. For four hundred years he had gently refused, and even though he had never done so again since the first time he accepted, she still awaited the day he’d retreat back into his shell.

It would not be tonight. She saw it in his eyes. He knew how important tonight was, just as she did.

When Azriel nodded slowly and held his hand out to her, Mor’s heart settled for the first time since that morning, when she had awoken and realized the sadness that the day might bring. His hand encompassed hers and gave her the strength to move toward the center of the room, where people swayed with the music and lost themselves in their partners.

Mor slid one hand onto Azriel’s muscled shoulder and continued to hold the other as he slipped a hand down to her waist, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The music picked up and they began to ease into the rhythm, all too familiar with the ways in which each other’s bodies moved to the music.

This was where she was comfortable, where she felt safe and at home. His eyes, locked on hers, grounded her to the reality that was the music, the reality that was _him_ , and allowed her to relax. Azriel spun her and she laughed at the sudden freedom that washed over her, not caring as one of her hair combs clattered to the floor. It was worth it just to see his smile, the small but sincere one that he reserved only for her, the one that made her heart lighter and lighter until she felt like she was flying with her own Illyrian wings.

Dancing had always been a favorite activity of hers, and here, with her favorite partner, she felt a little less of the dread that had been consuming her all day long. After a few songs, Feyre and Rhysand came to dance with them, and then Cassian, pulling a half-reluctant Nesta along with him, Elain and Lucien following closely behind. Even Amren, scowling, eventually allowed her High Lady to coerce her to join them. They all danced together, breaking away from their partners to enjoy each other’s company, to make the best of this last night together, laughing despite the implications of the approaching morning.

Late into the night, long after Amren had disappeared, they all coupled off as the music faded to a slow and sentimental melody. Feyre and Rhys were so entwined that Mor didn’t know where one began and the other ended. The newly mated Elain and Lucien fell into each other’s embrace to dance together, drifting away to the opposite side of the room. Mor smiled to herself when Cassian pulled Nesta close and she relaxed into his touch.

But that left her with Azriel, without a buffer, without an escape from the tension and long-ignored _something_ between them.

Mor found that she didn’t care all that much. Not tonight.

Giddy from the wine, she twirled around herself, her skirt flowing around her. On her fourth or fifth spin, she grabbed Azriel’s hand and lifted it above their heads, giggling as she increased her pace. Almost at once, she stumbled and lost her balance, but somehow fell gracefully into his outstretched arms, circling gently around her waist to steady her.

“I think you’re supposed to slow your dancing for this music, not spin until you fall over,” Azriel jested quietly, in a gravely voice that made her blood sing. Mor twisted until she was facing him and slid her arms around his neck, feeling her face burn as Azriel smiled down at her.

It hit her hard and fast and violently, like a blast of power or a gust of wind in a storm. The weight fell heavily on her chest and she gasped lightly, choking on air, unable to reply or smile or even breathe. Would she ever dance like that again? Had she twirled into his arms for the last time? Was this the final smile he would give her as they swayed to the honeyed music of early dawn?

That smile faded and Mor closed her eyes, denying it, savoring the image of Azriel in front of her and preserving it in a memory that could last her for all of her numbered days or for an eternity if she were to… if she were to lose him...

Mor buried her head in his neck, breathing his scent in. The leather and vanilla and fresh air that radiated from him settled her rapid heart and gave oxygen to her lungs again. And he didn’t question it, he didn’t ask her what was wrong. He knew as much as she did, felt it all as he tightened his hold on her and rested his head gently on the top of her head. It felt right, if felt perfect, if only it wouldn’t end so soon.

Turning her head in and facing his neck, she sighed, her nose brushing his tanned skin ever so slightly. “What’s the point,” she asked quietly, “in slowing the music if we can’t slow down the time?"

\-------

Azriel only realized she was crying when a tear fell onto his chest, sliding down the exposed skin there and sending waves of concern over him with it. He pulled pack only enough to look at her face - her beautiful, perfect face - tearstained and wary. If he could, Azriel would destroy the world to make sure she never looked like that ever again. He would tear every single one of their enemies to pieces just to see her smile.

“I feel guilty,” she continued, finally meeting his hazel eyes with her brown ones, the subtle golden hues in them glowing with the wetness that dripped slowly down her face. “I feel so guilty, Az, that I’m letting the hard days win today. I’m not… I’m not supposed to feel like this, I’m supposed to be stronger than this. That’s my role. I need to be strong, for Rhys, for Feyre, for you, for everyone..."

Mor trailed off as Azriel reached up to wipe her tears away with the pad of his thumb, struggling not to shiver with the sensation of being this close. If he leaned down, their lips would meet. Not that he would ever allow himself to taint her in such a way, not when she would never want that - want him.

But Azriel shoved his insecurities aside for the killing calm that washed over him, the desperate need to show her that her feelings mattered, that whoever would force her to fake being happy or being okay would have to deal with him first. “You don’t need to be strong for anyone,” he whispered. “Not tonight.” Mor pressed her trembling lips together and nodded as Azriel rubbed a hand over the small of her back, and she pressed her head into the crook of his neck again.

They stood there for a long moment - it could have been a minute, or several songs - until Azriel realized they had long ago stopped dancing. Mor was nuzzling ever so slightly into him and he felt like his shadows would consume him, consume the both of them together, until all he could feel was _her_. It overwhelmed him, how she could find such comfort in his arms when he was who he was - the spy, the assassin, the one who shed the most blood for this court. And she knew more than even Rhys about the things he had done, the people he had hurt. His hands were too dirty to hold such a pure, perfect being, and yet here he was, feeling as she breathed in his scent and sighed contentedly, as if she truly wanted to be nowhere but in his arms.

“Azriel,” she murmured into his skin, and he realized he had been staring down at her when she moved her head up and their faces were closer than he ever anticipated them being. He couldn’t move.

Mor only frowned as she bore her stare into him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when she pressed her forehead to his. “Azriel, promise me I won’t lose you,” she uttered, so quietly that he probably would have thought it was one of his shadows had he not watched her lips as she said the words.

But… he couldn’t. He couldn’t promise her that he would make it through the war, just like she couldn’t promise him. And he knew that a part of her realized that even before she said it, and that she wasn’t looking for truth right now. Only comfort. Without disturbing their stance, Azriel spread out his wings and wrapped them around the both of them, surrounding them in the darkness of calm and peace and quiet.

Her eyes were closed now, a small sad smile at her lips, but he brought a hand up to touch beneath her chin. His lips were millimeters from hers, and he breathed the words onto hers with conviction, believing them as true. Even if fate were cruel enough to take him away from her, even if whatever awaited him in the afterlife would try to hold him back, he wouldn’t let them. For her, he’d defy the impossible, no matter what it took.

“Alive or not, Mor, I’ll always find you. I can promise you that."

And when she closed the hairs-width of space between their lips, the future didn’t matter, nor did the past. No impending war or insecurity or sadistic amount of self-control would ever force Azriel to pull away from the answer to a question long ago asked. If his time came, if the Mother pulled him from this earth too early, if he had to give his life for his family and his court, he’d always be living in this moment, in her kiss, in _her_.

**Author's Note:**

> it's finals week and i'm feeling some type of way. fic updates will flood in after christmas, but for now, wish me luck and pray for me as i tackle my first ever law school final exams!


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